


a heart beat pulse that keeps on pumping

by Kt_fairy



Series: The brighter sun and the easier lays [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Brian is difficult, Drunkenness, Friendship, Hot Space Era, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reconciliation, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Tension, bowie is still implied, found family problems, implied david bowie, john is bad tempered, paul is a snake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 15:53:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17984117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: “We’ve got a good balance, don’t we? We’re good at keeping any problems in the studio, right?”“They're not problems, Deaky.”“They are. Me and Fred are going one way, and you and Bri are…”“Stuck in the old ways?”“No. I don't think that,” John murmured, twisting so he could kiss Roger's chin. “It's…I worry. I..” he turned to face forwards again. “I just worry.”“And I have supreme confidence,” Roger declared, looping his arm around John's chest as he pushed his face into his hair. “We'll work it out. We always do.”ORBig Trouble in the Hot Space studio





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo... if you love Brian, sorry. This gets a lil' rough on him (but he does deserve it).  
> Kinda.  
> John is very sharp and pointy and Done with everyone's shit.
> 
> Rating is M for now, but will go up to E for next chapter. Tag's will update.

 

 

**-1982**

 

It took a few attempts and a quick flick through the instruction manual of his mum’s land line before Roger got the electronic beep of the West German ringing tone. He gave his sister the thumbs up to let her know it had worked, only for the Cathedral bells to start tolling the half hour just as John picked up.

 

 He was laughing when the noise faded, voice crackling with static when he asked, “Is that how you’re announcing yourself now?”

 

“Yep. Came all the way to Cornwall just to pick ‘em up,” Roger said and John laughed.

 

“How’s your mum?”

 

“Wonderful. She gives her love and I told her you give yours. Claire say’s hi and that she wishes you were here.”

 

“Well obviously! Claire has good taste in company.”

 

“I’ll hang up on you.”

 

“Then you won’t be able to hear about how it went with Bowie.”

 

“ _What_ !” Roger yelled. “ _David_ Bowie!?”

 

“Yep. He came by to see Freddie and listened to come of the stuff we were doing and I...think the three of us are recording a track?”

 

“You’re what! For Queen or Bowie?”

 

“Oh Queen! _We do not work for free, darling._ ” John said in his best Freddie voice.

 

“But Bowie does?”

 

“He does for Freddie Mercury.”

 

“And John Deacon!”

 

“Oh hardly,” John muttered, but was obviously pleased.

 

“So. Come on. Tell me about it. Is it _avante garde_ or did you drag him into doing a disco track?”

 

“ _Avante garde_ disco?”

 

“Sounds awful.”

 

John laughed. “Fuck you.”

 

“Who’s doing the drums and guitar? Or have you finally replaced me and Bri with machines?”

 

“I’ve put down some drum beats and played the guitar. But, you know, you guys can and go over it when you come to Munich. I’ve made it all about the bass so…”

 

“Far be it from me to come and steal your thunder then. More than Bowie and Fred will.”

 

“ _Thanks_.”

 

“Ah you know me. I sugar coat _everything._ ”

 

 John hmm’ed doubtfully and they fell into a comfortable silence. Roger closed his eyes, listening to John breathe and the faint sounds of him fiddling about with something on the other end of the line. He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, smiling around it when he heard John chuckle.

 

“Don’t, or I’ll want one.”

 

“What else am I supposed to do with my mouth when you're not…” Roger started, and then glanced around to check no-one could hear him.

 

“Please tell me your mum just walked into the room!”

 

“No.”

 

“Awww.”

 

“So. Tell me more about this song you and Bowie did?”

 

“It's like a slow, funky track. He did some backing vocals. I don’t think we’ll be able to do it live though, Freddie’s hitting some _high_ notes. Almost you high.”

 

“I suppose _I’ll_ just have to do it live then.”

 

“I’ll have a go on the drums and you can sing and play bass.”

 

“Sound’s great.”

 

“And, also - Bowie was so impressed by Freddie and myself that, you know, he might come to Montreux at the end of the month and see about working on a song with all of us. Properly working on one, you know? Not just mucking about.”

 

“Well,” Roger sighed, leaning back against the stairs and blowing a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling. “Bugger me. I think we’ve finally made it.”

 

“I think we just might have.”

 

 

* ***** *

“What”, Roger demanded, dropping his bags on the floor. “Have you done to your hair?!”

 

 John jumped, almost dropping his cigarette when he whipped around to face Roger. “ _Chr_ ist Roge! When did you get here?” he crossed the kitchen of their Munich flat to give Roger a peck on the lips. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

 

“I’d have flown in sooner if I knew you’d be messing with your hair again!”

 

 This wasn't as great a tragedy as when John had first cut his lovely long hair, or as much of a shock as the time he had practically shaved it all off. His lovely mop of almost curls had been a favourite of Roger’s and now they were gone, replaced by short sides and what looked like a _perm_ on the top of his head.

 

“Don’t you like it?” John asked, turning to look at his reflection in the oven door.

 

 Roger sighed and pulled John around to face him, holding him by the shoulders so he could take a good look at him.

 

 There wasn’t any softness about John anymore. He was thirty now and the beautiful, melancholy painting of a boy Roger had first fallen for was long gone. Not that he was complaining - John growing into himself was no bad thing. His lithe body was toned now instead of just skinny, and his surer features were still beautiful.

 

 He would always be beautiful.

 

“It suits you,” Roger said, trying to mess up his curls and smiling when John ducked away from his hand. “Shows off your cheekbones,” he kissed his cheek. “And your jaw,”  he kissed him there. “And your…”

 

“Okay, _okay_.”

 

“I like it.”

 

“I like your bottle blonde mullet.”

 

“I make it look good!"

 

“You do,” John agreed, taking a drag of his cigarette as he raked his gaze over Roger.

 

“How's the studio been?” Roger asked, knowing from phone calls with Freddie that things had been a little tense. Or as Freddie had put it, “It feels like we’re working in a fucking minefield, darling”.

 

 John didn't quite grimace, but it was close. “Difficult,” he said, shrugging noncommittally as he began to bop along to the Bananarama song that was blasting out of the Hi-FI.

 

“You know what John? You and me have very different music tastes.”

 

“Yep,” John popped the P, a look of mischief in his eye. “But you know _what.”_

 

“What?” Roger asked, and John grinned. “Oh no. _No_!”

 

 Roger tried to make a break for it but John grabbed him, socks skidding on the floor before he got enough purchase to hug Roger tightly to his chest. “I love you,” he cooed, all sickly sweet, right into his ear. “I love you _soooo_ much.”

 

“I love you _despite_ you loving Bananarama!” Roger yelled, and John laughed.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“Your drummer is here!” Roger announced as he burst through the studio doors with John in tow. “We can _finally_ get some work done!”

 

 Brian and Mack were the only one’s in the control room and they both looked very pleased to see him. Mack actually let out a quiet whoop when he saw Roger and he found that a little touching, to be honest.

 

“Hi Roge! How’s your mum?” Brian grinned, setting down his green editing pen as he turned to him.

 

“She’s great, say’s hi to everyone,” Roger hopped from one foot to the other as he rubbed his hands together, trying to peer at the lyric sheet Brian had been pouring over. “So, what're we working on?”

 

“Oh, uuhh…” Brian glanced at the sheet of paper and Roger noticed Mack quietly turn back to the mixing desk.

 

“Brian,” John asked. “Are those my lyrics?”

 

“I'm just looking over them.”

 

“Why do you need to look at my lyrics?”

 

“I’m checking how it flows.”

 

 Brian had always been picky - Roger learnt early on to let him do things and then change it back while he wasn’t looking - but his pickiness with John’s songs had always been...more. In the early days when John had barely filled up one notebook with lyrics it had been welcomed as the honest help it was. Now, even Roger had to admit, it felt a little patronising.

 

“Maybe I don’t want it to flow! Maybe I want it to be abrasive.”

 

“We’ll see how it sounds both ways and then decide.”

 

“It’s my song!”

 

“That _we’re_ going to play,” Brian said in his _I’m being patient_ voice and then had the gall to look surprised when John snatched his lyrics from him.

 

“You don’t see me going over your lyrics!”

 

“And what would you have changed in any of my songs?”

 

“I’d have put a great big red fucking line through your _“oh no I cheated on Chrissie again woe is me’_ song.”

 

 That had been such a low blow that even Mack, who had been keeping a professionally blank face throughout this, had winced.

 

“How dare you...”

 

“If you didn’t want people to talk about it _,_ why make it into a six minute song?”

 

“ _John_ ,” Roger warned, then turned to Brian. “He does have a point. Look,” he held up his hands when Brian made to protest. “Just...don’t touch John’s songs without him saying you can and Deaky... be nice? Please?”

 

 His attempt at mediation held, sort of, but the atmosphere in the studio still felt like a freezer with all the air sucked out of it. He tried to keep things light but it never stuck, Mack sighing heavily as he and Roger sat watching them bicker in the live room. “Any day I don't have to step in is a good one.”

 

“It’s like this all the time?”

 

“Mostly. I’d hoped you being here would change things but…” he waved at the live room with a shrug and bent to check the tape.

 

 If Roger’s presence wasn’t enough to cool tensions then he had hoped that Freddie’s arrival, no matter how late, would bring calm. Instead Roger watched from behind his drum kit as Brian only got more tense, shoulders curling in on themselves as he leant against his amps.

 

“Oh darling what’s this?” Freddie said when Paul handed him the sheet of John’s lyrics Brian had been fiddling with. “No no no, we’ll do it as Deaky wants and then tweak as we go,” he bumped his hip against John’s. “It’s how we work, isn’t it dear?”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“It was how you worked with David Bowie,” Paul put in as he lit Freddie’s cigarette.

 

“ _Oh yes!”_ Freddie trilled, going on his tiptoes to peer at Roger through his cymbals. “Bowie was very impressed with our Deaky. I had to stop him trying to poach him!”

 

“No you didn’t,” John huffed as he turned pink.

 

“You didn’t tell me that, Deaks!” Roger beamed, proud as anything.

 

“David was impressed with both of us,” John said, ever modest.

 

“ _David_ ,” Brian muttered darkly under his breath, turning to fiddle with his guitar when Roger shot him a look. Yeah, he wished he could have been there to jam with Bowie, but he didn’t resent Freddie and John getting the chance to.

 

“Yes, well everyone is impressed by _me_ ,” Freddie announced. “It’s about time people were impressed by you, dear. By _all_ of you.”

 

“Brian,” Roger whispered. “Don’t be like that, mate.”

 

“All I’ve fucking heard about since I got to Munich is David bloody Bowie,” Brian grumbled, glancing Paul’s way when he strummed his guitar loud enough to kill all conversation.

 

 

* ***** * 

 

 Roger flipped his notebook closed at the sound of a key in the lock. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting at his watch as he stretched hard enough to almost flip off the sofa he was sprawled over.

 

“How was the walk?” he called when the door banged shut, peering over the back of the sofa when he got no reply.

 

 John was struggling to get his jacket off. Really struggling. As if it was squeezing the life out of him.

 

 Roger was on his feet in an instant, stilling John’s hands so he could tug the poppers open. “There you go John, breathe with me now,” Roger made sure his voice was calm as he exaggerated his breathing, keeping his eyes on John until he managed to match it. “There we go. Nice even breathing.”

 

 He stepped back once he’d gotten John’s jacket opening, letting him take it off and dump it on the floor.

 

“Walk didn’t calm you down I take it?”

 

 John shook his head, rubbing at his chest as he gave Roger a smile that was more of a wince. “I ended up mulling over everything with...then I got anxious and felt sick and now everything is terrible.”

 

 Roger knew better than to hug him when he was like this, instead plucking John’s hand from his chest to hold it between his own. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“No.” John said, which was no surprise. He had been too on edge after leaving the studio to talk about the three day long (that Roger had seen) argument going on between him and Brian. He definitely wouldn’t want to talk about it now he was in this state.

 

“Okay. If you like I can run you a bath? Help you calm down?”

 

 John shifted awkwardly, face pinching when he sighed. “Yeah okay.”

 

 Roger let the tub fill while John sat quietly drinking a cup of tea until the looked less like he was about to burst into tears. He didn’t help him undress, but he did fold John’s clothes for him, setting them on top of his own that he had left in a pile on the toilet seat.

 

“You do a lot for me Roge,” John said, swirling his fingers through the warm, lavender scented water after he had settled against Roger’s chest. “Thank you...not just for the bath, but...yeah

 

“You do a lot for me too. I don't need you to thank me.”

 

“I know. But..." John sighed, laying his arm over Roger's on the side of the tub. “We’ve got a good balance, don’t we? We’re good at keeping any studio problems out of...out of our private life, right?”

 

“They're not problems, Deaky.”

 

“They are. Fred and I are going one way, and you and Bri are…”

 

“Stuck in the old ways?”

 

“No. I don't think that,” John murmured, twisting so he could kiss Roger's chin. “It's…I worry. I..” he turned to face forwards again. “I just worry.”

 

“And I have supreme confidence,” Roger declared. They were very good at keeping personal and professional separate; Roger had almost strangled John after he taped his drums for _Another One Bites The Dust_ but that rage had not made it past their front door. He looped his arm around John's chest and he pushed his face into his soft hair. “We'll work it out. We always do.”

 

* ***** *

 

“I’m not sure that rhythm is right, Deaky.”

 

 John rubbed his hand over his face and tried very hard not to shoot a glare through the glass at Brian. “What’s wrong with it?”

 

“It’s too slow,” Brian said into the control room microphone. “Maybe speed it up a bit?”

 

 Roger rolled his eyes from behind his kit. He muttered just what he thought about that under his breath, grinning when John caught his eye and smiled.

 

“Didn’t catch that, Roge?” Brian’s voice crackled through from the control room.

 

“He said,” John picked up his bass to speak very clearly into its mic. “That’s a bit rich coming from you.”

 

 John, as usual after an anxiety attack, wasn’t in the best of moods. Roger’s own had been coasting pretty well despite the bad night’s sleep he’d had, trying not to toss and turn while worrying about everything, but the airless studio was starting to make him feel caged in and antsy.

 

 Freddie stumbling in mid afternoon for the fourth time in a row hadn’t helped. He wasn’t annoyed about him being late, Roger couldn’t be when he would leave the house with John and still somehow end up arriving an hour after him. What soured Roger’s mood was the fact that he was obviously neither sober nor had been to bed last night.

 

 They had come out here to Munich to work with Mack, not so Freddie could treat it like working holiday.

 

 Instead of saying something Roger had gone to sit at his kit in protest. Glaring daggers into the control room when Paul had chatted to John like he knew anything about anything. _Wanker_.

 

 So, he was sullen, John was grouchy, Freddie was hungover and still buzzing. Meanwhile Brian was as fresh as a daisy but didn’t seem to realise that he and Mack were the only ones.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You always slow every fucking thing down to make you sound better.”

 

 This would have been the moment for Brian to just ignore that, or leave this for a time when John was feeling more charitable. But he never had quite got the hang of John's moods though. Or, to be honest, had really tried to.

 

“When have I ever done that?” He demanded as he stomped into the live room and Roger put his head in his hands.

 

“Every bloody time!”

 

“I play it as it is on the record. You're the one's racing ahead…”

 

“Roger and I are your _rhythm_ section. You follow us, we're not here to do what you feel like.”

 

“And the both of you can't just do what _you_ want either!”

 

“We react to the energy coming from the crowd, and from Freddie. ”

 

“I understand that bu,t the tempo is there for a…”

 

“ _Oh_ please _tell me more about music theory_!”

 

 Brian and John were two of the kindest, most intelligent and generous people you could ever hope to meet. They were also two of the worst people to argue with.

 

 Brian always wanted to get the last word in - he was a war of attrition kind of guy, wearing you down until you gave up or gave in. John, on the other hand, could not only dig his heels in like he was growing roots, but was just spiteful enough to do everything he could to deny Brian the last word.

 

 Roger didn’t try and stop them, deciding to do some actual work instead. He started tapping out a beat for a song he was tentatively writing, drowning out their bickering as he waited for them to be done.

 

 He didn’t see why he should keep on stepping in to keep the peace. They were professional adults, if they wanted to use this studio time to argue themselves hoarse then, as far as Roger was concerned, they were welcome to do so.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“At least we got out of the flat for a bit,” John said as he dropped his keys into the bowl by the door.

 

It sounded so much like what Roger's mother would say after a day out got abandoned because of the weather that it made his skin prickle.

 

 Roger slammed the front door shut behind him and hopped around pulling his boots off. “Oh yeah. Get out of the house only to come right back. Can't even go out for a beer without people _gawping_ ,” he growled, making a beeline for the drinks cabinet.

 

“If you want to go out we can go see what Crystal is do…”

 

“I don't want to spend time with Crys! I want to spend time with you!”

 

“Okay,” John said gently. “Well, I'm here.”

 

“I want to be able to sneak touching your hand and tangle our feet and all that dis _gusting_ romantic SHIT that we always do and don't talk about,” Roger ranted a he picked up a bottle and pointed it at John. “And we can't because we're the latest attraction in town.”

 

 As much as he _wanted_ to be as carefree and spitefully open about ths, about his  _sexuality_ (whatever that might be),as Freddie was, Roger knew they couldn't. Freddie blossomed under the attention he got whilst John, naturally anxious and fiercely private, would just wilt. He understood that, and would defend John’s privacy and mental well-being to the last, but sometimes he hated it.

 

“Can’t they be worried about East Germany or the USSR or something? Not the fact we’re out for dinner? They were looking over like they expected a show. Maybe one of us snorting twelve lines of coke while the other wrecked the place. _Christ almighty_.”

 

“I know, I know.”

 

“I'm cooped up in this place! This whole situation is suffocating me! I need to be out,” Roger downed a drink and then poured another one. “I'm going mad being stuck in that basement studio with you and Brian arguing all the time, and then the only other option I really have is this bloody flat!”

 

Roger brought the glass to his lips, eyes falling on John who was stood in the middle of the room. His shoulders had dropped, head ducked to hide whatever his face was doing as his fingers tangled nervously together.

 

“ _John_...John I don't mean…”

 

“It’s fine," he said quietly, voice clipped and tense.

 

“ _Deaky._ ”  

 

“I’m going to go and work on something Freddie asked me about,” John said, moving quickly towards the music room.

 

 Roger groaned when the door clicked closed behind John. He dropped onto one of the stools by the bar, putting his heads in his hands as he stared into his drink.

 

 What the fuck was happening.

 

 

* ***** *

  

 The whole process of making this record was getting drawn out and painful. The musical split down the centre of the band that had started on The Game, with Freddie throwing everything into _Another One Bites the Dust_ while Roger and Brian had humoured them, was beginning to feel like it was growing into a gaping hole.

 

(That song _had_ been an incredible success, so Roger was prepared to admit he had been wrong about that one.)

 

 He wasn’t a fan of the more dance orientated tracks Freddie and John were working on, and neither was Brian. Queen had a sound that worked and had got them fame and success and love and money, and he didn't want to put all of that in danger for that sake of them experimenting.

 

 If they wanted to go off an do an album on their own, fine. Great. He would even play a drum machine for them if they asked. He didn’t see why they had to do it on a bloody Queen album.

 

 It felt like they might be one argument away from shattering the atmosphere within the band was so terrible. Roger had always been fastidious in keeping work and private life separate but this tension was even getting in to his home life now, Roger's mood darkening at the smallest thing while John's anxiety flared at a wrong word or a bad thought. So Roger was trying to be more tactful in the studio, to be less brutally honest in his opinions.

 

 Which had...varying amounts of success.

 

“Oh. So we're taking sides now.”

 

 Roger leant back in his chair, pushing his sunglasses into his hair with a sigh. “I'm not taking sides if its my opinion, John.”

 

“You’ve been quiet about it until Brian said something!”

 

“ _I can agree with Brian_. And I do in this instance...”

 

“Just because Freddie isn’t here...” Brian muttered under his breath.

 

“What?”

 

 Brian turned to face John. “Just because Freddie isn’t here to back you up at every turn.”

 

“ _Back me up?_ Since when was sharing a taste in music...”

 

“And that’s fine,” Roger interrupted. “We’re not taking sides because we do or don’t like a style of music. We’re just trying to be honest.”

 

 John looked between the two of them, seeming to accept Roger’s reasoning as leant back over Mack’s shoulder to look at the levels.

 

“I don’t know where all this argumentativeness has come from,” Brian muttered. Roger shh-ed him but John was already glaring across the control room.

 

“What are you muttering about now?”

 

“I don’t know why you’re being so difficult when you were perfectly happy with band decisions before.”

 

Roger ran a hand over his face, up into his hair, and back down again.

 

“They’re not band decisions,” John snapped. “It’s whatever _you_ can wear us all down on and then the rest is the stuff that you _couldn’t_ get your way on!I agreed because I was young and new to all this and went along with it because _apparently_ you all knew what you were doing.”

 

“We’re older, yes. Maturing musically can take a few…”

 

“ _Bri!_ ” Roger snapped. “Don’t you fucking finish that sentence.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re not going to fucking patronise him! It’s beneath you, and you know it.”

 

“ _Oh is it?_ ” John sneered.

 

 Brian blustered, waving his hand at John as he looked at Roger who was not going to step in and help him. Not that helping would have done any good as it seemed that John was determined to air all his grievances this afternoon.

 

“I don’t know why I’m surprised! Neither of you have ever liked any of my songs.”

 

“That's not true,” Brian protested, Roger keeping quiet because it was party true.

 

“ _You’re My Best Friend_. A song about you all. And you shit on my lyrics! Hated _Another One Bites the Dust._  Still do,” John looked up towards the ceiling as if for divine helps as he laughed bitterly. “I bet it really tears you up that it did so well.”

 

“I may not have liked it,” Roger tried to be tactful. “But the public did and that’s what counts,”

 

“Yeah. I lined your pockets so suddenly that’s what matters.”

 

“You are being impossible,” Roger snapped.

 

“I am being just as difficult as the both of you _always_ are.”

 

“We’re just trying to compromise with you, John.” Brian said softly.

 

“ _Why do I have to compromise_.”

 

“It’s what bands _do!”_ Brian said forcefully, whacking his hand on the mixing desk. “We find a way where we’re all as happy or unhappy as one another.”

 

 John visibly bit down his reply to that. He began to pace, clenching his hands at his sides as anger seethed through him.

 

“Oh please. As we’re sharing. Do go on.”

 

 The look Brian got was one of the coldest Roger had ever seen from John. He just stared at him, mouth working over words that Roger knew were not going to come because whatever he said wouldn’t be able to be taken back.

 

 He expected John to deflect or start ranting, maybe go on the attack again. What he did instead was storm into the live room, pick up his bass, and storm back out again.

 

“Oh what, are you quitting?” Brian scoffed and Roger shoved him.

 

“Fuck off Brian.”

 

“He’s just being dramatic!”

 

“You can be a right prick sometimes.”

 

“And you’re such a saint, Taylor.”

 

“Not to butt in,” Mack said from the other end of the desk where he had been watching all this unfold. “But if he leaves Munich, I won’t be here for when Freddie finds out.”

 

Roger finally noticed John wasn’t in the control room any more and sprung to his feet, ignoring Brian as he ran from the room.

 

 He looked both ways down the corridor, and then headed for the equipment room, almost knocking Ratty over as he barrelled through the door. “Oh fuck sorry. Ratty I’m looking for John.”

 

“I should think so too.”

 

“What?” Roger peered over Ratty’s shoulder and saw John packing up his bass. “Deaky!” He tried to step around Ratty but found him in his way away. “Ratty get the fuck…”

 

“Roadie loyalties mate.”

 

“Are you fucking serious?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“You don’t need to be my bodyguard, Pete,” John said as he picked up his bass that was now safely in its case.

 

“ _Pete?_ ”

 

Ratty rolled his eyes and stepped aside to let John pass.

 

“Deaky. _Deaky._ Please.” Roger grabbed at John’s sleeve and was very relieved when he stopped. “I’m sorry it got that nasty. But I can’t be sorry about not liking that type of music.”

 

“I don’t expect you to,” John said softly. “I just expect the same respect I always show you two.”

 

“I do respect you! I don’t doubt that it’s a good song we’re just...I’m not sure about it. About any of this.”

 

“I know. But you could at least try to…”

 

“I do try.”

 

“I know you do. Most of the time. But I...sometimes it feels like you both still see me as a nineteen year old more worried about my degree than the band, you know. Like the successes I’ve had for the band don’t mat - hasn’t changed that. I _know_ what I’m doing, Roger. And Brian is treating me like I'm a fucking idiot.”

 

“That’s not...well, Brian might still think like you're nineteen. You know what he’s like. But he doesn't think you're stupid. It hangs over him that your degree is better than his, you know that!” Roger was relieved to see a smile tick at John's mouth and stepped closer, moving his grip from John's sleeve to gently hold his fingers. “When I criticise it's because I respect you enough as a musician to not hold your hand. I know how good you are, and I _know_ how smart you are.”

 

“I wish it felt like that all the time.”

 

Roger sighed, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he thought of what he could possibly say to that.

 

“Are you really leaving?”

 

“Well,” John shrugged. “I’ve stormed out now, I can’t go back in there.”

 

“But you’re not _leaving_ leaving?”

 

“I’ve been your bassist all my adult life, what else can I do?” John scoffed. “No. I'm not leaving. I'd never leave,” he rubbed his hand over his mouth and shot Roger a tired smile. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. About the money thing.”

 

“It was partially true. I am proud of how well it did though, even if I didn’t like it.”

 

“Thank you,” he gave Roger’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’m going to go home now. Don’t tell Brian I told you I’m not quitting.”

 

 Roger grinned, squeezing his hand back. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Brian May dearly, but I totally get why Back Chat happened.
> 
> Song's referenced are Cool Cat (D'ya like Cool Cat? Cause you really should. They did that with Bowie), and It's Late (naughty Brian).
> 
> This was going to be one fic, but I split it in to two because It felt like there was a natural break in the story and also...I'm impatient. woops.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please take not of the upped rating and the updated tags.

 

 

“Sooooo,” Freddie broke the thick tension hanging over the lounge, eyes flicking between his band-mates were. “I hear there was a disagreement yesterday.”

 

 Roger glanced between a petulant Brian and a blank faced John, before meeting Freddie’s eye. “Musical differences boiled over,” he said as he lit a cigarette.

 

 Freddie nodded. “Was it to do with the musical direction John and myself are trying out?”

 

“Could say that,” Brian groused. “Don’t get me wrong, I support your musical endeavours and your experimentation…”

 

 John rolled his eyes and sunk down in his seat, flicking a magazine open loudly as he took a drag on his cigarette.

 

“See, this is…” Brian started and then turned towards John. “What? I haven’t said anything yet!”

 

“We had a sound,” John said calmly. “Then we did _Sheer Heart Attack_ which had a different sound and was successful. The same with _ANATO_ and _News of the World_. We grow and change. That’s why we still sell out arenas all over the world.”

 

“Keeping with the times _is_ very important.” Paul said like his opinion mattered at all. “You don’t want to get stuck in the past with that heavy guitar sound.”

 

“I know,” Brian snapped. “But it’s not like rock music is dead! We can make our own path surely? It's not like we haven’t done that before now.”

 

“Yes. We can,” John said like he had made this point many time before. “Or we can try something else. We're _Queen_.”

 

 Brian continued to argue his point as if no one had spoken and John groaned. He pitched forward to put his head in his hands, exhaustion weighing down his shoulders as he let the cigarette burn to ashes between his fingers.

 

  Roger hadn't known what to expect when he had stepped through the front door last night; maybe John would be drunk and wallowing, maybe silent and morose, or maybe there would be no John at all and Roger would have to drag him out of the nearest bar. What he found was a subdued John, but otherwise he seemed fine. He was curled up on the sofa with a mostly full bottle of wine set on the coffee table, smile genuine if not easy when Roger had kissed him after being told Chinese was on the way. 

 

 The next morning, or rather this morning, felt like yesterday never happened. John had been his usual soft, sleepy self after crawling out of bed. He had pressed a kiss to Roger’s messy hair when he handed him a cup off coffee, and even laughed at Roger's attempts to decipher the rapid German on the radio.

 

 The ride to the studio saw John becoming quieter and quieter, arms wrapped around his bass as he slouched in the passenger seat. He had completely drawn into himself by the time they were walking down the stairs into the studio lounge, handing his bass back to Ratty with a tight smile before finding somewhere to sit that was as far away from Brian and Freddie as possible.

 

 Roger watched John visibly reaching the end of his patience and found he was afraid. Queen had survived for so long. Longer than nearly all of the other bands they’d crossed paths with on tour, managing to maintain a level of success most of the big acts from their early day’s had rarely kept up.

 

 This band meeting on a bright, sunny Wednesday morning might be as close to shattering as Queen had ever come.

 

“Brian, darling,” Freddie said, holding his hand out to silence him. “How many song’s have we done about women?”

 

“I...what’s that got to do with yesterday?”

 

“We have done song after song after song about being in love with women or about women, or about their backsides. Which is fine. They’re good songs and everyone in this room does love women in various ways,” Freddie looked around the room as they all nodded. “I am not asking that we write love songs about men, dear. I am simply asking that we make some songs which will appeal to the gay scene.”

 

“I know. But I don’t want to alienate all our fans.”

 

“You could alienate them anyway,” Paul muttered.

 

“Yes. Thank you _Paul,”_ Roger snapped. “ _By the way_ , what are you…”

 

“Shouldn’t we try and include everyone, Bri?” Freddie spoke over him. “You may not like the style of music. I understand that. John understands that too. Don’t you, darling?” Freddie shot John a look and he nodded. “But please let us make the music we want to, and we will let you make the music _you_ want to. We’re not asking you or Roger to write funk or dance songs. God _knows_ they’d be awful.”

 

 Roger snorted, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another. “That’s fine Freddie. Really. I get it. You’re as gay as a daffodil and Deak’s an' me are shacked up, so it makes sense.”

 

“Thank you Roge, dear,” Freddie smiled at him, and then turned to John. “How does that sound, darling?”

 

“Perfectly fine, Freddie,” John agreed, Roger very glad that he didn't notice Brian’s eye roll. “I don’t want to overhaul Queen. Just branch out a little, you know.”

 

“Understandable,” Roger said around his cigarette. “You’ve been playing rock music for so long it’s about time you stretched your musical muscles and did your funky thing.”

 

 Roger kept the smile off his face when he glanced at John who was giving him a knowing look, but there was a softness in his eyes when he bumped his foot against Roger’s under the table.

 

“Are we okay Bri?” Freddie asked, turning to Brian who was looking conflicted. “Will you let us be gay all over a _part_ of our eighth studio album?”

 

“Yes. Fine," Brian sighed, fight momentarily gone out of him. " _Fine_.”

 

“Excellent!” Freddie chirped, clapping his hands as he leapt to his feet. “Then let’s get to it you bunch of bickering old queens!”

 

 

* ***** * 

 

 It wasn’t the disco, or the studio, or Brian being patronising, or John being short tempered that was turning recording this album into a battlefield. It was _Prenter_ who was ruining it! The smarmy bastard was wheedling his way into conversations and band meetings where he had no business being, and, Roger had noticed, was needling Brian almost constantly.

 

 Needling Brian _was_ fun, Roger often did it when he was in a funny mood. But he was Brian's friend, so was Freddie and John and even Ratty and Crystal who were always up for bringing the four of them back down to earth. Paul wasn't a friend, he worked for Freddie and wielded that like it gave him some power. Like it gave him the  _right_ to speak to Brian like that.

 

 Now, he wasn’t certain about this. Roger had come to Munich late and no-one else seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he had (not that he expected Freddie to, he was a man with many blind spots). He also couldn't deny that he might be deflecting his irritation with his band-mates onto the nearest unlikable person. And the longer Roger knew Paul the less he liked him.

 

“I hate it when he takes my side,” John had said when Roger brought it up to him. “I don’t want him on my side, you know. It feels like he’s buttering me up for something and… and, well. No-one butters anyone up for something good, you know?”

 

“You can always tell him to piss off.”

 

“Nah. He hates it more when you ignore him.”

 

 Roger had laughed, leaning over to kiss him. “You’re such a bitch.”

 

“I know.”

 

 Suspicions confirmed, Roger waited for the right moment to bring it up with Brian. Which was easier said than done.

 

 He was prickly with everyone and even more so with John, becoming more withdrawn every time they argued. It bothered Roger that Brian didn't seem to want to speak to him. Not just about John which, even though Roger tried to remain neutral, he did understand. He wasn't talking to him about music or his frustrations or lyric's or  _Paul._ In fact Roger might say that Brian was trying to avoid him.

 

 It took about a week for Roger to finally corner him, and that was only because John, to Freddie's delight, had broken out the synth and drove them both from the studio.

 

 It was a balmy Monday afternoon so Roger had steered them to the Band's usual Café, making idle conversation (blerg) to ease Brian into the idea of talking to him before Roger brought Paul up.

 

 Roger had been shocked by Brian's palpable, desperate relief. They'd had plenty of ups and downs over their fifteen years of friendship but, Roger realised with an awful creeping sensation, this was the first time that Brian hadn't felt able to come and speak to him about something.

 

“He’s trying to shove me out, Roge!”

 

“What!”

 

“He’s been taking sides and saying things about how John can just do the guitars. That big guitar sounds aren’t in…”

 

“That's why you've been being such a bitch to John.” Roger stated as he sipped his coffee.

 

 Brian sighed, looking a little silly when he curled his long body over the tiny European Café table. “I know. It all got away from me and I was...I thought if Deaky wasn’t going to be on my side then…”

 

“Hey. Brian,” Roger gripped his shoulder. “Even if Deaky was doing the shoving, I'd  _never_  let you be pushed out mate.  _Never._ You know that," Roger waited nervously for Brian to nod, relief flooding him when he did. "Deaky isn’t going to stand by and let you get pushed out either, and especially not by Prenter. You know how strongly he believes that we’re this four or we’re not a band at all. Even if he does hate you.”

 

 Brian gave Roger such a pained look he almost hugged him. “Does he really hate me?”

 

“I - no. Not _hate_ hate. Sibling hate. He’d strangle you, but if anyone else said anything about you he’d kill them.”

 

 Brian shook his head. “I love him. Obvious not like you do.”

 

“Yeah I know.”

 

"I'm not..."

 

"I have noticed. Yes."

 

 Brian winced, tugging at his hair before patting it back into place. “Is this what it’s like with little brothers and sisters? You hate to see them grow up. Just want them to be that sweet kid they always were?”

 

“Yeah,” Roger sighed as he tapped out his cigarette. He wasn’t nostalgic, but those few years in the 70’s when they were young and kind of poor and everything was new and Queen wasn’t this monster...John had been happiest then. Not weighed down with accounts and sales and musical struggles like he was now. And Roger missed it. " _But._ You can be proud and support them when they grow. And I know John values your opinion. It’s why he takes all your picking and _ignoring_  what he wants so badly.”

 

 Brian sipped his disgusting herbal tea and nodded. “All right.”

 

“You can also shut up more often if you like.”

 

“ _Yeah_ yeah, all right.”

 

 

 * ***** *

“So. After a day in the sun, dodgy bratwurst, and almost drowning, are you feeling better about Munich?”

 

 Roger considered the already visible tan line around where John’s sunglasses had been and laughed. “Yep,” Roger flicked his own glasses up and looked at his matching tan in the rear-view mirror. “We can go and show our lovely sunburn off to those Morlocks in the studio.”

 

 John snorted at the H.G.Wells reference, licking his ice cream as he crossed his ankles on the dashboard.

 

 Going out to Herrsching had been John’s idea. Dispel his awful cloud sitting overt hem by getting as far away from the post-war grey of Munich as they could while still being able to be back in the studio tomorrow. If they felt like it. Freddie wasn't the only one who could skip on a whim.

 

 Crystal had hired them a brand new Mercedes and Roger had most likely broken the speed limit as they tore down the S-Bahn. He felt better, like he could breathe freely for the first time since he stepped into the studio, just from driving a fast car on good roads with John laughing next to him.

 

 They had been typical English tourists with their pale legs and shorts and sandals, getting vaguely burnt as they wandered around the holiday village looking at Bavarian architecture. There had even been the typical almost disaster when it turned out Roger couldn’t actually row the little boats you could rent to take out on the Ammersee lake.

 

 It had been a quiet, calm day out in the open sunshine being totally ignored by the very polite locals and aggressively relaxing day-trippers. Roger had even taken the chance to tangle his finger’s with John’s while they had waited in line for ice creams.

 

 Roger leant across the gear stick so he was close to John, grinning when he automatically wrapped his hand around the side of Roger’s neck. “I have had the most un-rock star day and I've loved every second of it.”

 

“Me too,” John murmured, smoothing his hand down from Roger’s neck to rest on the heated skin Roger's chest where his shirt was half undone.

 

  He glanced around the half empty car park before ducking in to kiss John, sucking on his bottom lip to get him to open his mouth so Roger could lick the sweet taste of vanilla ice cream from his mouth.

 

“Roger,” John’s tone was almost warning when he pushed him away. His eyes darted around the car park, shooting Roger an embarrassed look when he recovered from whatever had spooked him.

 

“Sorry,” Roger whispered when he made to pull back but John held him in place.

 

“No one's around.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I wouldn't be letting my ice cream melt if I wasn't.”

 

 Roger watched John lick around the ice cream, gaze falling to the dribble that was making its way down his fingers. He caught John's wrist when he went to lick that up too, unable to keep a grin of his face when he chased the melted ice cream away with his tongue.

 

 John gasped, _mphf_ -ing in surprise when Roger kissed him again.

 

“What do you think?” Roger whispered against John's lips. “Nearest layby, or book into a hotel for the night?”

 

 John smacked him on the chest, glaring at Roger when he flopped back in the driver's seat with a laugh.

 

“Urgh,” John grimaced. “Hotel of course. Heathen.”

 

 Roger laughed again, caught John's raised eyebrow and scrambled to start to car. “Hotel it is!”

 

 

* _*_ *

 

 

"So. What do we think?"

 

 John had just played the bare bones of a song he and Freddie had been working on, and it could not have been more of an obvious rant at Brian if they had tried.

 

 The song wasn’t nasty. Even if some of the lyrics were a little close to the mark it wasn’t an attack. It was ten years worth of irritation at Brian always getting his way, but Roger could tell it was tongue in cheek.

 

 Brian could too, shaking his head as he held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Guilty as charged, you know that.”

 

“And now we’re going to make _millions_ off it!” Freddie cackled.

 

“What?”

 

“You want to release this?” John asked.

 

“Yes darling. Roge, back me up!”

 

“Yeah. Why not. Got a good funky beat, strong lyrics,” Roger grinned around his cigarette. “Live up to our reputation of being a bunch of bickering old queens.”

 

 John shook his head, stretching out his foot to tap  against Brian’s leg. “You don’t mind, Bri? It’s not even finished yet so it might not be good enough to even make the album.”

 

“Oh Deaky…” Freddie muttered, rolling his eyes as he whacked him on the arm. “You always say that and then it becomes a worldwide success!”

 

“I think it has a lot of potential,” Paul spoke up.

 

“See!” Freddie declared, missing the dirty look John shot Paul.

 

“Well. As we’re thinking of it maybe being a single, I’ll go and think up some guitar solo options for you, Deaky.”

 

 Roger rubbed his hand over his face, holding it over his mouth as he met Freddie’s eyes over John’s head.

 

 Brian’s attention to detail was what had made him such a good astronomer and was what pushed their music to the level it had always been. And yet, concentrating so hard on the details meant that he often missed the bigger picture.

 

 It had barely been a week since Roger’s little chat with Brian about everything. He had _just_ listened to a song all about him steamrolling John. And it had all gone right over his head.

 

“Oh. Okay,” John said with forced lightness and Roger winced, bracing for an argument that never came.

 

 Roger had mostly forgotten about the whole thing by the end of the day and didn’t think much of John staying late at the studio to ‘finesse some things’. In fact he was glad to have the time to do some more work on the song that he had been writing. He was putting himself into it, more so than he had with any other song, so he wanted to take his time with it and not get distracted.

 

 That was all abandoned when John waltzed through the door at one o’clock in the morning offering to suck Roger’s dick. The glint in his eye should have given away that he was up to something, but Roger was little distracted by him kneeling between his legs and pulling his jeans open to think too much about it. 

 

 So the Feedback laden, scratchy guitar that had appeared on the song the next day was more of a surprise than Roger knew it should be.

 

“....And this is the style you want me to play?”

 

“No. This is it," John said as he rewound the tape.

 

“This is…”

 

“I recorded my own last night. So it sounds how _I_ want it.”

 

 John stood with his hand on his hip, his whole body language radiating so much agression it made Brian step back. He looked at Freddie for help but he didn't seem to want to get involved and Roger hated how it made Brian shrink.

 

“You did the bass and the guitars?”

 

“Yep. Thought I'd give everyone something new. A palate cleanser from the usual sound of you getting your way.”

 

“He did _every_ instrument on Cool Cat. You know.” Paul put in.

 

 Mack pulled a face like a nasty smell had wafted up and Roger couldn't help but agree with _that_.

 

 Brian looked like he’d been punched in the gut, glancing between everyone a little desperately. “Yes. I know he did.”

 

“Because John understands what music sounds like now. He's not stuck in the past…”

 

 Roger was about to tell Paul to fuck off when John wheeled on him. “Don't you have coffee to fetch?” He sneered. “If we ever, by some catastrophe, want your opinion we'll fucking ask for it. This is a _band_ matter. Freddie, Roger, myself, and _Brian._ ”

 

 If it looked like he had been daring Brian to say something, it seemed as if John was _asking_ Paul to give him an excuse to rip in to him.

 

 Roger knew John. Knew every twisting, unpleasant, beautiful part of him. He had known when he told him Brian's fears that, despite everything, John had never considered for one single second having this band without Brian in it. And would take a very dim view of anyone trying to change that.

 

“Brian is a very good guitarist,” Freddie finally said, the atmosphere in the studio reaching arctic conditions as John stared Paul down. “He'll make the sound of this new decade his own.” He smiled at Brian, glanced at Paul and then turned to John. “Deaky, I must ask you to please be more civil towards the people I employ, dear.”

 

“I've never been anything but friendly to Phoebe and Joe,” John sniffed, hitting play and whacking up the volume to drown out anything else Freddie might say. “So, you think you can do this live, Bri?”

 

 Brian blinked at the sudden change in John’s demeanour, nodding slowly. “I should, yes... What did you play it on?”

 

“A strat.”

 

“Oh. Yes. I can swap to one…”

 

 And just like that, after months of being at one another’s throats, they were chatting about guitars like nothing had happened.

 

 Roger lit a cigarette, rolling his eyes when Mack caught his gaze.

 

_Typical._

 

* ***** *

 

“Okay,” John clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. “ _Welches Video möchtest du sehen_?”

 

“Muppets!” Mack’s youngest declared, jumping up ready to run for the VHS.

 

“ _Nicht_ Herbie?” Roger put into stir the pot, laughing to himself when that caused a genuine dilemma for the two kids.

 

 The Muppet's were a favourite of Mack’s kids, but the original Herbie movie had the bonus of being brand new. Roger had bought it for them the day before, when Mack had asked John to look after his kids while his wife was in labour. They had been transfixed by it, barely noticing John’s amusement and Roger’s pain at the terrible German dubbing.

 

 John shot him a look, but was all soft smiles when the boy came up to him. “Please. We watch one - one un...we eat. And other, after? _Bitte._ ”

 

“Oh I think we can do that, don’t you Roger?”

 

 Two sets of big, imploring eyes turned on him and Roger laughed. “Why not.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

 After much debate in German that Roger could just about follow, it was decided Muppet's was going to be watched first and Herbie second. They looked to John for approval and were very pleased when he nodded.

 

“Will you be okay to sit with them while I make their dinner?”

 

“Oh yeah. I think I can just about manage watching Kermit the Frog.”

 

“You haven’t heard it in German,” John whispered, trailing his hand over Roger’s shoulder as he made his way to the kitchen.

 

 Just as Roger suspected, he had barely got out of the living room before a chorus of his name went up. John ducked back into the room, confusion turning into a soft smile when a blonde bundle ran up to him and grabbed his hand. “ _Setz dich zu uns_?”

 

“I won’t be long.”

 

“Pleaseeee.”

 

“I’ll do the dinner,” Roger said as he pushed himself up off the sofa. “You can sit through the German.”

 

“Sorry,” John whispered as he was dragged over to the TV.

 

“Mack called you to look after them, not me,” Roger smiled, stopping John with a hand on the stomach so he could kiss his cheek before leaving him to his fate.

 

 His culinary skills had gotten better since the now famous boiled egg incident with Freddie, but even back then he could have handled re-heating the extra pasta sauce John had made the night before.

 

 Roger leant on the doorway, wishing he had his Polaroid camera so he could take a photo of John sat with the kids. One had tucked himself under his arm and the other was kneeling next to him, her hands pressing into his thigh as she said something to him in stilted, struggling English. Roger knew he was listening intently to her, trying to make sense of what she was saying, and it made him smile. Even if it felt a little bitter sweet.

 

 Roger was not a particularly broody person. Kids had always been something far off on his radar, and when he had committed to John they had been one of the easier things he had given up hope of having. John had never said if kids were something he had ever hoped for, but he was so good with them. Or, rather, children loved him. They wanted to talk to him and were rarely shy around him.

 

 With a sigh Roger turned from the scene and shuffled back into the kitchen to poke at the boiling spaghetti.

 

 There was no point in thinking about the what if’s and maybe’s of having a child, no point telling himself they were too busy to raise one properly. No-one was going to let two men have kid.

 

 His pang of sadness didn’t last long, not after John reached out for him to come and sit on the sofa to eat with them. He forgot all about it when John laid his arm along the back of the sofa, shifting his fingers through Roger’s hair as they watched German dubbed children’s movies.

 

 Roger was a patient adult and did not shove a child out of the way so he could be the one curled up against John. He waited until they moved to the floor to be closer to the TV to lay his head on John’s chest, his feet dangling off the end of the couch.

 

“Hair,” he demanded when John didn’t resume stroking his fingers through it.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Hair. Please.”

 

 He felt John snort, and then the kiss pressed to his messy hair. Roger smiled to himself, more content than he had felt in a good long while, and fell into a doze surrounded by John’s clean scent and the feeling of his fingers passing gently through his hair.

 

 

* ***** *  

 

 Roger had been unusually nervous when he presented his new song to the band.

 

 Normally he wouldn't care if they liked his song or not, any rejects just ended up in his solo work pile, but he had put a lot of himself into this one and how that honestly would be received scared him a little.

 

“Well...” Brian sighed, stretching back in his seat and Roger braced himself. “I think if we tweaked it a little it’d be a nice poppy love song.”

 

“It’s not a love song,” John said, looking up from where he had been pouring over the sheet of lyrics on the control panel. He swung his chair around to face Roger, a soft smile in his eyes. “It’s about letting yourself accept who you love, no matter who it is.”

 

“Isn’t that a love song?”

 

“No. It’s…” Roger shifted, uncrossing his arms then crossing them again. “It’s saying not to be scared when you love someone, no matter who they are. Or what they are. Boy or girl or whatever. It’s normal. It’s not anything bad.”

 

 Brian thought about that a moment and nodded, wheeling over to the desk to start scribbling some notes. “Is that what you wanted for the guitar sound? A little uh… the light strumming and picking?”

 

“Uh yeah,” Roger said, surprised he wasn’t meeting the same resistance every other song was getting. He looked over at Freddie who gave him a thumbs up and an exaggerated nod of approval as he swiped the lyric sheet from John who still had that soft smile in his eyes.

 

 Roger realised that softness was pride, and then it hit him that John was proud of _him_. He wasn’t one for blushing or getting all weak kneed, but he did allow himself a smile when he scooted along the mixing desk to perch next to John. “I was thinking we could uh...have some gentle bass, pushing it forward. Muted? So the whole song feels bouncy and uh...happy? I want it to be happy.”

 

“I think I can just about manage that,” John grinned, knocking his knee against Roger’s leg when he turned to pick up his bass.

 

 He watched John listen to the guide track, trying to find a place to fit his bass line between the melody and the beat that Freddie was clicking along to as went through the lyrics. It was no more than John did for any of their songs, but Roger still wanted to kiss him a little desperately.

 

 Work and home life were separate. The past three years of musical infighting had made it very apparent why that was important. Yet this song _was_  Roger's personal life. He wouldn’t call it a coming out, it was far too vague for that, but it had more of him and John in it than Roger had ever really written before.

 

 He glanced around at everyone concentrating on what the were doing, and bent to steal a quick kiss.

 

“Saw that,” Brian said softly.

 

 For a moment Roger feared that would shatter his and John’s fragile truce, but John just shot Brian a blushing grin. “Well, now he knows you won’t run screaming from the room you’ve opened the floodgates.”

 

 Brian mimed screaming in horror, the tentative smile on his face gaining strength when John giggled.

 

 

* ***** *

 John was a bit drunk.

 

 Tipsy drunk. Fun drunk. He had collapsed into the car and, after much flailing of limbs and unhelpful laughter from Crystal in the passenger seat, managed to plaster himself against Roger’s side.

 

“Can’t believe David fucking Bowie came in, did some finger snaps, and got Deaky drunk,” Crystal said, turning to laugh at them as the car set off through the winding Montreux roads.

 

“I am perfectly capable of getting myself drunk,” John informed him, smiling at Roger when he wrapped his arm around him. “Thank you for remembering my bass line, love.”

 

“With your eyesight and my memory we’re almost a functioning human being,” Roger joked, ducking his head to press kisses over John’s neck.

 

 John sighed softly, making to lean back and pull Roger with him when they got swatted by a magazine.

 

“Not in a car without a partition! I do _not_ wanna see that.”

 

“Awww boo.”

 

“ _Sorry mother._ ”

 

“I’m going to quit on you one of these days, watch me.”

 

 Roger untangled himself from John to lean between the front seats and smack a kiss to Crystal’s receding hairline. “Love you Crys.”

 

“ _Love you Crysss_ ,” John cooed, and then fell about laughing.

 

 Recording with Bowie had been...odd. Stressful. They were not used to working with a musician who wasn’t one they knew inside and out, while David was used to working with session musicians who did what they were told - and Queen rarely even did what they told one another to do.

 

 Going for Pizza had been to break the tension as much as it had been to fuel their minds, and the wine had flowed freely. And mostly in John’s direction, as David had been very interested in talking to him. That had of course had made Roger a little jealous. Not because it looked like David Bowie was trying to chat John up (Roger was safe in the knowledge that John wouldn't shag him), but - well,  _Roger_ was the one who got to get John delightfully tipsy and set him off talking about circuit boards and Rick James. 

 

 He had only sulked a little through dinner, making a point of remembering John's bass line and mixing all his drinks for him as he session crept into the next day. Much to Freddie's increasing amusement.

 

 At least they’d all got too drunk to stop arguing with one other or David, but God knows what the track they’d hashed out sounded like. Not that Roger really gave a fuck. So what if it turned into a pile of shit? Hot Space could well be a pile of shit with how they’d struggled to make it.

 

 He looked from the faint sunrise just starting to light up the sky behind the mountains to John who was leaning against his chest. They had been up nearly twenty hours at this point, so that was understandable. Roger was pretty knackered himself. Yet there was a sadness in his face when he sat back and stared at his knees for a good minute before tilting his head back with a sigh.

 

“I hated all that yelling and arguing and butting heads with Brian,” he flicked a glance at Roger when he touched his leg, then looked back at his knees. “I hated being pissed off all the time. I hate that we can’t seem to have fun recording anymore,” John pulled a face. “I fucking hate Paul. He’s not even half as smart as he thinks he is, fucking jumped up tea boy.”

 

“Join the club,” Crystal yawned.

 

“Can we drown him in the pool?”

 

“I’ll go on the look-out and you can hold his head under the water.”

 

“Why do you get to be the look-out?”

 

“Because you’re strong, toned rock gods and I’m your beer drinking manager.”

 

 That made John smile, turning it on Roger as he rubbed at his eyes. “You remembered my bass line!”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Thank you,” John laced their fingers together. “Be lost without you.”

 

 Roger would be lost without John, he knew that down to his core. But he wasn’t about to say that in front of Crystal, the bastard would never let him live it down.

 

 

* ***** *

 

“I feel like a berk,”  Brian grumbled under his breath.

 

“We all look like berks,” John muttered.

 

“Should've just got pissed like me,” Roger grinned while waving his cymbal at the two of them.

 

 John and Brian had been on much better terms since they'd finished recording the album, but Roger was still heartened to see them share an eye roll over his head.

 

“Come on. All we have to do is sit around and click our fingers like it's bloody...bloody west side story or something.”

 

“Roger, you got drunk before you came to set. Don't try and be philosophical.”

 

“Its cause I'm drunk that I can be.” Roger said as he leant back against the prop wall, letting out an _‘euyrk’_ when it wobbled dangerously and he had to sit back up again.

 

 A giggle came from the group of dancers standing nearby and he shot them a grin. They were hardly wearing anything, exposed thighs and torsos painted with arrows that were pointing to their best bits. Roger was especially intrigued by one woman who was wearing some very scant bikini bottoms, he had no idea how she didn't end up flashing everyone when she danced.

 

 It was only when she caught his eye that Roger realised he had been staring at the cross lacing of her skin tight leather bodice. He snapped his gaze forward and then down, considering his shoes a moment before glancing over at John.

 

 He wasn't paying attention to much of anything. Roger hadn't expected enthusiasm from him - John felt the same way about music videos as Roger did - but he hadn't expected tension either.

 

 Roger shuffled over to bump into John and offer him a cigarette. John blinked at it, then smiled up at Roger when he took it off him.

 

 His attention flickered over to the crowd of dancers when he let Roger light the cigarette for him. John eyed them as he sat back and took a drag, then looked back to Roger with a smile in his eyes. “You know I don't mind you looking.”

 

“You never look,” Roger complained.

 

“I never get caught,” John grinned at Roger's blustering. “Why would my eye stray when I've got you to look at,” he cooed, giggling when Roger shoved him.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

 John waggled his eyebrows, blowing smoke towards the ceiling.

 

“What are you all giggling about?” Freddie called across the set.

 

“Why we aren’t all in skimpy outfits,” Brian called back, turning around to shake his skinny arse. “That’s what the public wants to see.”

 

 Freddie laughed in delight, turning to come over to join them but Paul caught his arm and steered him back to the director.

 

“Prick,” Brian muttered under his breath.

 

“Tosser,” Roger agreed, the both of them looking at John who had turned a sour expression on the set. “What’s up, buttercup?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Nah. Come on. Bitch session. Say it.”

 

“I...dunno. This feels all like a...It’s Fred’s video to Fred’s song, but it doesn’t feel very Freddie.”

 

 Roger had to agree, but there wasn’t much they could say or do about that. Freddie would just site the Munich gay scene, and as John was the only one of them who had ever set foot in a German gay bar they couldn’t really argue.

 

“I don’t know,” Roger said, eyes catching on the dancers again before leaning in to John. “He does like a nice pair of tits.”

 

“ _You_ like a nice pair of tits.”

 

“No. _I_ like a nice pair of legs.”

 

“Everyone likes tits,” Brian observed and Roger was very happy to see that almost brought a smile to John’s face.

 

“Is this the objectification corner?” John leant around Roger to ask.

 

“You’re telling me that you don’t?”

 

“ _Uuuuh_ ,” John said, indicating Roger.

 

“You’re right,” Brian grinned. “He is a bit of a tit.”

 

 John burst out laughing, Brian only holding it in for a few seconds before he joined him.

 

Roger glared up, up, up at Brian and snapped his fingers angrily in his face. “Excuse me. If I’m a tit, then I’m gonna be a massive pair of them!”

 

 

* ***** *

 Roger wasn't that drunk, all things considered. Especially not for an album launch party.

 

 Freddie had a heavy hand in organising it, so there were lots of _people_ ; drag queens and men in leather, prostitutes, lots people they knew and more that Roger didn’t. It wasn’t as mad as that New Orleans party no-one could remember, but it wasn't exactly afternoon tea with granny.

 

“Partake, darling. Partake! Drink deep!” Freddie yelled into his ear as he wrapped an arm around Roger, steering him over to a table in the corner of the room where people were obviously doing coke.

 

 Roger hesitated, glancing over at John who was deep in conversation with a Japanese journalist they knew.

 

“Oh come on now. Deaky doesn't mind!”

 

 He usually didn’t. And Roger really did need to blow off some steam…

 

 Roger rolled out his shoulders when he straightened from doing lines, rubbing at his nose as he shook his head. “That’s got a fucking... _urrrgh._ Fuck.”

 

 Freddie laughed, whacking Roger on the back as he turned to say something to the man he was with.

 

 Long fingers sliding into his hair felt incredible. Roger sighed, pushing into the liquid feeling as he looked up at John. He wrapped an arm around his skinny waist to drag him close, slipping his fingers under the back of John's jumper while he ran a hand from the curve of John's calf to his thigh.

 

 John tensed and Roger realised that he was feeling him up in front of a room full of people. He made to pull away but John stopped him, ducking down to whisper into his ear. “Enjoying yourself?”

 

“I am now.”

 

 John glanced over the table top that was littered with the evidence of the cocaine circling the party and Roger squeezed his hip. He’d let him get black-out drunk, but he wasn’t about to let him get into drugs. Not now.

 

 With how dark it was Roger couldn’t really see John's eyes, but he felt his body zing as John leant his weight into him, barely holding in a moan when his sweet breath ghosted over Roger’s ear.

 

“I’m so fucking wound up after recording this album. I want a good, hard, dirty fuck off of you tonight. So if doing cocaine gets you horny, just know that I’m ready to go.”

 

 Roger was very, very glad it was dark because his dick immediately showed it’s interest in that.  “Okay let’s go!” Roger jumped up, stepped away from the table and then turned on his heels to grab one of the half full baggies from the table. Freddie got shoved out of the way in the process, his yell of protest turning into delighted laughter that followed Roger as he dragged John out of the party.

 

 The hotel lobby was so silent compared to the party it made Roger’s ears ring, the lights dazzlingly bright, but that didn’t matter. Not when they stumbled into the lift and John wiggled his hand into Roger’s trousers as he was shoved against the wall with Roger’s tongue in his mouth... 

 

 

 

 

...“Roger!”

 

 Roger started, dropping the duvet he was holding as he turned to a wonderfully naked John. Things had become a little hazy after the lift doors had closed, and Roger was disappointed that he couldn’t really remember making all the dark hickeys that were littering John’s throat and chest. “Mmmwhat?”

 

 John moved closer to him. “Christ, have you eaten one of Ratty’s brownies again…”

 

“No! I'm...I was distracted by your state of undress,” Roger stared at him, and then grabbed Johns arse to drag him against him. “You said you wanted a hard fuck?”

 

 John swallowed, nails digging into Roger’s biceps when he kissed the bob of his Adam's apple. “Yes.”

 

 Roger scraped his teeth over the soft skin of his neck as he slipped his fingers between John’s cheeks. He found him slick and open already so crooked his fingers into him, John clinging to him with a gasp so soft it made Roger tingle all over.

 

 He sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully pulled John down into his lap. He kept a secure hand on John's hip as he slid his tongue in and out of his mouth, stopping John from rubbing his dick against Roger’s belly every time he rocked his fingers into him.

 

 It took a lot of self control from Roger to not give in and just lower John onto his cock. Especially when he started to tug on Roger's hair, breath hitching right against his ear with ever brush of Roger's fingers inside him.

 

 Roger knew John’s body so well by now that he could tell when he was about to come, leaving it until the last second to pull his fingers out. John tensed all over, body not knowing weather to arch back or curl in on itself as he tried to swallow down a scream.

 

 Roger grabbed him with his clean hand and dragged him in for a kiss, swallowing all his sounds of protest. John tried to reach for his dick but Roger knocked his hand away, grabbing his wrist to keep his hand at his side when John tried to grab Roger’s dick. He wanted John on edge, wanted him to feel as sharp as Roger’s fading buzz was making his aching arousal.

 

 John moaned out loud when Roger bit down hard on the ball of his shoulder, a delightful tremble running though his thighs, and that was enough to crumble his resolve entirely.

 

 He pitched John onto his back and was on him before he’d even caught his breath from gasping on surprise. Roger kissed up his body, grabbing one of John’s long leg’s behind the knee to shove up to his chest as he reached for the lube.

 

 His hand hit the baggie instead. He blinked at it, an idea forming, and then looked back to John. “Hey. Can I do some of this off you?”

 

 John blinked at him, craning his head back to look at the cocaine laying next to the bottle of lube. “Well,” he said, running his hands down Roger’s chest to press his palms against his stomach. “I did say I wanted a dirty fuck.”

 

“Oh _Fu…”_ Roger grabbed it and sat back on his heels, smoothing his hand down the inside of John’s thigh before fiddling the baggie open.

 

  John propped himself up on his elbows to watch Roger snort the cocaine off of each of his hip bones, collapsing into the bed when Roger went straight from doing a line to kissing him. Roger moaned when John grabbed his arse to pull his hips against him, making needy sounds into his mouth until Roger finally, _finally_ slipped his cock into John, giggling at the joint groans they let out.

 

 He watched John's face as he thrust a few times, waiting for the real good, sparkling high to hit. He slipped off the end of the bed when it did, laughing out loud at the startled look on John's face when he dragged him down to the edge of the bed.

 

 It was only John’s heel pressing into Roger’s shoulder that stopped him getting lost in every sparking sensation that was like a burst of light shooting down his spine to pool red hot in his belly. John seemed to be enjoying it too. He was definitely making enough noise, trying to arch into Roger’s hand that was pressing against his chest to stop him being shoved across the mattress with each snap of Roger's hips.

 

“ _Roger - Roger - Roger - Roger,”_ John panted, dragging Roger close to nip at his bottom lip before kissing him. That tiny point of pain made Roger moan and he ground hard into John until he tipped his head back with a cry of “ _Fuck!”_

 

“Hard enough for you?” Roger panted into John’s ear, hips jerking when John grasped at his shoulder and moaned in response. “You’re perfect,” Roger grunted as his hips slapped against his arse. “You feel so good and I want to…”

 

 Instead of elaborating Roger pulled out and pushed at John until he moved onto his front. He dragged his hips up, squeezing his ass as he kissed over the heated skin at his lower back. Then the dark pink flush on his arse. And then the smooth skin behind his balls.

 

 John let out an embarrassed, high pitched noise when Roger pulled his cheeks apart to kiss him there. The embarrassment turned into a desperate whine when Roger ran the flat of his tongue over his hole, John making like he was going to pull away when Roger easily slipped his tongue into him but then pushed back into it.

 

 Eating John out was a wonderful distraction that Roger threw himself in to. He made sure he got spit everywhere so he could make as many disgusting, dirty noises as possible, encouraged on by every half sobbed moan John tried to swallow down.

 

 Roger pulled away, gazing along John’s back and momentarily missed his lovely long hair that he used to be able to yank on or shove his face into when they shagged. It was a passing thought, Roger standing so he could press down between John’s shoulder blades until his chest hit the bed.

 

 He could really fuck John like this, and he did. Roger dragged John’s hips back into his thrusts that got so rapid everything became a blur of moans and cries and slick warmth and bright, sparking pleasure than began to burn hot and low as the buzz started to fade.

 

 His pace slowed along with his heart beat as he started to come down, John's moans losing their sharp edge when Roger fell into a more coherent, experienced rhythm. He was still fucking John hard though, he had asked for that and Roger made it a point to always deliver. He smacked him on the arse, then again a little harder when John jerked and moaned. Roger smoothed his hand over the heated skin of his thighs and backside, squeezing both cheeks apart to sneak a glimpse of John taking him.

 

 He let go of John's bum when the felt his own orgasm building. Roger curled his hand over John’s waist and plastered himself against his back, pressing kisses along his shoulders when he finally wrapped his hand around John's dick.

 

 

 Roger hadn't passed out straight away, he was mostly sure about that. Mainly because he was face down in a pillow instead of on the floor.

 

 He ached all over in that delicious, bone deep way you got from a good shag and stretched hard so he could enjoy it. It took him a moment to realise that the sound of drunk people in the corridor was what had woken him and he huffed into the pillow. He was well aware that he couldn't complain because that had been him more times than enough, had probably kept a few people awake with his fucking as well, and rolled over to squint at the clock.

 

 Seeing it was four in the morning he huffed again and gracelessly rolled out of bed and onto his feet, scratching idly at his belly. He peered at the other side of the bed to confirm John wasn't there and went for a piss, gulping down about half a pint of water straight from the tap before going to find John.

 

 The balcony door's had been flung open, a chill tingling over Roger's skin when he wandered into the main room of their suite. He glared at them, just able to make out the beginnings of a sunrise that would soon turn the city into a silhouette of itself, before dropping his gaze to the arm chair that had been dragged across the room to face it.

 

 Roger slowly rounded the chair, shooting John a tense smile in return for the bright one John gave him. “Hi Roge.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I'm fine,” John swapped his cigarette into his other hand so he could hold on to Roger's. “I'm very fine. The best sort of sore. And…” he showed off the smattering of hickey’s Roger had left on him. “Thoroughly decorated.”

 

“Oh,” Roger breathed as he eased John's dressing gown open a bit more. He traced over the fading bite mark on the ball of John’s shoulder, strangely entranced by it even though he had no idea why he’d gone and bit him like that. Besides the coke.

 

 Roger rested his knee on the chair when he bent to kiss John’s shoulder. Then along his collarbone. And finally a gentle kiss on his lips, going easily when John dragged him in to deepen it.

 

 He ended up slotting into the space between John and the arm rest, throwing a leg over John’s so he could comfortably press against his side. He rested his head on John’s shoulder, finishing the cigarette John handed him as they watched the sunrise together.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Freddie stood in the middle of the dressing room, his eyes darting rapidly from John, who was downing a bottle of water while clutching a beer, to Brian who had just stepped through the door.

 

“So, dears. How do we think that went?”

 

“Wonderfully, Fred. The crowd were loving it,” Brian said through the towel he was rubbing over his face. “Best energy so far.”

 

“Yeah,” John said, dropping his water bottle into the bin with a sharp clatter. “Wasn’t bad.”

 

 John could describe playing to over three-hundred thousand people in Rio as “not bad”. He had also said “not bad” when asked how he felt after putting his arm through a plate glass shower door. Roger suspected that Brian fiddling about on the Back Chat guitar solo may have edged the gig towards the nineteen stitches and a night in A&E kind of “not bad.”

 

 Roger really wanted to get into the shower and wash off the sweat that had soaked through his clothes, but he couldn’t until he knew that the beer in John’s hand wasn’t about to be chucked at Brian.

 

“Oh? _Wasn't bad,_ darling? You _do_ flatter,” Freddie declared, swatting John with his towel to try and make him smile. Which, to Roger’s relief, worked.

 

“You don’t need us to tell you how great you were.”

 

“Fla-ter-er,” Freddie cooed as he poked John's cheek, laughing when he was batted away.

 

 Roger thought it was safe enough to edge towards the showers, keeping an eye on John when he opened the beer bottle on the edge of a table and headed over to Brian.

 

“Hey Bri,” John said, patting him on the back. “I liked what you did with the solo in Back Chat?”

 

“Yeah?” Brian said, sounding as surprised to hear that as Freddie looked.

 

“Yeah. It was a nice touch.”

 

 John didn’t mean it of course. As a matter of principle he would have hated every note of Brian’s riffing.

 

 And yet, with that one (mostly sincere) white lie from John, all that weight and worry Brian had been carrying around since recording this album vanished. Brian’s smile reached his eyes for the first time in months, his whole demeanour no longer so pinched and uncertain.

 

 John was taking a sip of his beer when Roger caught his eye. He smiled at him and John nodded, shrugging just enough for Roger to see before he went back to getting undressed.

 

 Roger had never been more proud of him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've seen some people rec'ing this series on Tumblr, and I just want to say thank you so much for all the kind thing's you've said about this series and for rec'ing it in the first place. (Also to the person who's twitter I was creeping on and they said they'd love a pt 4 to this. Ta Dah!)
> 
> Song's referenced are Back Chat (bbboopppp), Calling All Girls, Under Pressure (the implication of Bowie only grows), and the Body Language music video.
> 
> (Brian suffers from being from the 60's, he's trying)


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